


Fly as High as I Want

by cupstealer



Series: Royal Blue [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gay Porn Hard, M/M, there are five jimmy buffett songs hidden in this one so get crackin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-21 23:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupstealer/pseuds/cupstealer
Summary: Outtakes from Call Me Royal Blue.





	Fly as High as I Want

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here are some deleted scenes! Starts the morning after the rainstorm in Mexico. Title, again, from Royal Blue by Cold War Kids.
> 
> I tried my best to make it pornier, but it didn't happen, sorry! Maybe I'll edit more in later! Go Hawks!

Jonny’s family arrive at Azul Claro just after lunch with bags under their arms and eyes. There’s hugging and smiling and pointed looks, and then Patrick leaves Jonny to show them around.

Patrick’s on a lounge chair beside their villa’s pool, watching games he’d missed from the Montreal-Tampa Bay series on his iPad. He’s shaded by gnarled trees that cradle the villa on either side. The back door clicks shut and Patrick peeks up to see Jonny striding over with a smoothie in his hand. He’s back from helping his family settle in, then. 

Despite the several available and supremely comfortable seating options, Jonny plops down on the ground next to Patrick’s lounger, dipping his feet in the pool. He sips his drink, leans his head back to rest against Patrick’s thigh, and lets out a content sigh. Things seem to be working out. With his eyes still on the game, Patrick drops a hand to Jonny’s head and idly pets his hair. 

“You satisfied?” Patrick coaxes. “You happy? You got everything just right?”

Jonny leans into his touch. “I dunno,” he drawls, distracted. “Think my house might be too big.”

Patrick squints up from the iPad in vain, knowing there’s no one in earshot to confirm that, yes, Jonny really just said that. Then he pushes Jonny into the pool.

 

The sun finally let itself sink below the horizon not long ago and Patrick watches as lights and torches gradually spark to life around the pools and forest. They’re at a table on the patio of the resort bar with Jonny’s parents and David, enjoying the steadily cooling breeze off the ocean. Patrick’s family arrived a few hours ago and promptly turned in, tired from traveling all day. 

Patrick doesn’t realize he was worried about being around Jonny’s family like this until he registers surprise at how easy it is. It was never going to be like meeting a girlfriend’s parents because, for starters, he already knows them. Also, he was openly dating those girlfriends. He’s pretty sure Jonny’s parents know, though. They know Jonny’s not straight, at least, according to the man himself. It wouldn’t take too many leaps of logic from there to piece the rest together. He’s seen Mrs. Gilbert after three Cup wins, now. Her particular brand of maternal pride is always irrepressible, but here on the beach it’s practically incandescent. The way she’s looking at them somehow reminds Patrick in a vivid flash how he’d felt when Denis Savard had shaken his hand, telling Patrick he’d made the team.

They definitely know. 

Jonny’s dad asks after Patrick’s clavicle, and he tells them about the plate removal. They joke about being able to do it for cheaper with the right power tools and toast to his good health. It leads to a comically solemn round-table of ‘where were you when you heard about Patrick’s collarbone,’ culminating in Patrick’s contribution of “face-down on the ice.”

“I definitely thought, there goes the season. Only decent player on the team gone,” David says and Jonny serenely flips him the bird.

“Tough times,” Patrick commiserates. “I didn’t see the team much around then, but I imagine there was lots of crying.”

“Oh, there are some stories we could tell you about poor moping Jonathan,” Mrs. Gilbert confides. “We were counting the days until you came back.”

Jonny just looks sullen and finishes his beer. He and Jonny switch to shots around that time (Stanley Cup wins do to alcohol tolerance what radioactive spiders do to scrawny high schoolers) and start bickering about point production and taste in clothing and Patrick’s invincibility at Words with Friends. Jonny’s parents peel off headed to their villa pretty soon after that. David hangs in there for another drink or so, but even he reaches his limit and heads out. 

The stars are out by now and Jonny’s endearingly tipsy off a number of Fireball shots. When he suggests trying something different for their next round, Patrick raises his eyebrows. 

“What did you have in mind?”

Jonny’s rubbing at the spot of whiskey staining one of the hipster t-shirts he got while he was in Winnipeg a few weeks ago. “I don’t know… Would you be interested in ordering a Kaner?”

Patrick rolls his eyes in anticipation. “What’s a Kaner?” he asks obligingly.

“An aggressive little tequila number. Small drink, but it comes with three Cups.”

“You are the worst,” Patrick says truthfully, but his mouth is curving upwards. And now they’re just sort of grinning at each other. God, no wonder no one in their families wants to hang out with them. 

Patrick puts a condescending hand on Jonny’s shoulder. “I’m only saying this out of professional concern, but your sense of humor has really gone downhill.”

“Oh, and why do you think that is?” Jonny looks at Pat meaningfully. “What negative influence could possibly be able to cause such a steep decline?”

Pat pointedly hums the tune to “Blame Canada” as he pushes his chair back to stand and walks by Jonny on his way to the bar to order the next round. Jonny smacks his ass.

*

The sun is streaming in when he wakes up. The sheets have been kicked off the bed and Jonny’s gone. Patrick groans, rolling over to press his morning wood into the mattress. He hears footsteps and turns his head. Jonny saunters into the room wearing pink board shorts and rubbing sunscreen onto his shoulders like he’s filming the intro to some softcore porno.

“Hey,” Patrick rasps.

“Morning,” Jonny says. “There’s some coffee in the kitchen when you’re up.” He’s coating his chest now. Fuck.

“C’mere,” Patrick coaxes, rolling to his side and laying an arm across the empty half of the bed. He appreciates the show, but Jonny shouldn’t be up right now. Jonny should be on top of him. Jonny eyes the obvious boner filling out Patrick’s boxers, but continues slipping his sandals on.

“Sorry, Peeks, I promised my mom I’d do a beach walk and breakfast today.”

“Well I promised _my_ mom I’d never settle, but here we are.” 

Jonny flips him off.

“Plans change, is all I’m saying!” Patrick calls to Jonny’s retreating back. Then he flops onto his back and takes care of it himself.

At great length, he joins the living and takes a hardy smoothie down the beach towards Villa Kane where most everyone is gathered looking much more rested than they did the day before. Patrick doesn’t know what Jackie said or did to Jonny back in April, but she’s all smiles now (he does catch Jonny sneaking anxious glances at her, though).

His sisters make fun of him for all the heavy-duty sunscreen reapplications, having opted out of the I’ve-got-sunburn-on-a-cloudy-day genes. The Toews boys are similarly privileged, running around in the ocean browning gracefully. Whatever they say, Patrick smells like a tropical wet dream and he got a free water gun with his bulk sunscreen purchase, so they can all kiss Patrick’s pasty Irish ass. 

Patrick lies on his towel reapplying with his headphones and a half-empty bottle of Sol keeping him company. He watches the occasional passersby. Watches them watch Jonny. He feels, not for the first time, a piercing urge to tattoo his name on Jonny’s neck, on his chest. Somewhere it won’t be missed.

Jonny apparently tires of beating David and Jess at handstand competitions and strides out of the water towards Patrick. “You coming in?” The sun is making the droplets on Jonny’s skin twinkle and glint like he’s some homoerotic spray-painted van mural come to life. All he needs is a few dolphins jumping in the background.

“Yeah, gimme a second,” Patrick says, pausing his music. He stands and stretches, brushing the sand off his arms and ribs. 

When he pulls his Beats off and tucks them and the rest of his technology safely away, Jonny says, “Oh good, you remembered to take your headphones off.”

Patrick wades into the water with Jonny beside him. “You need to get off my jock about headphones in the bath—that was _one time._ ”

“One time too many. It’s not like you don’t have speakers!”

“Some songs are _headphone songs—_ ” Patrick cuts himself off, “No. No, we are not going over this again.” He refuses to be tricked into rehashing this argument.

Over Jonny’s shoulder, Erica makes obnoxious kissy faces and draws a big heart in the air. “Hold my beer,” Patrick mutters solemnly, and Jonny complies. Patrick dives under and aims for her knees.

 

Patrick is bone tired. He’s gonna sleep until someone makes him stop. Jonny drops onto the bed face-first like an overgrown zombie probably would.

“What do we have tomorrow?” Patrick asks Jonny’s shoulder where Patrick’s face is smushed into it. 

“Bah bababah labobbomy,”Jonny says to the mattress.

“Try again.”

Jonny’s torso heaves with a sigh and tilts.

“Dad wanted to talk to me in the morning.”

“Mm.”

“Something ‘bout a boat for the day after tomorrow. Deep sea fishing. You joining us?”

Patrick doesn’t hate fishing. He remembers going with his Gramps as a kid, the routine and the jokes and the feeling of self-sufficiency. But it’s never been as fun without him and Patrick’s nose always burns. Plus, most of the deep sea expeditions Patrick has been on were basically just smelly joy rides. Whoop de doo. Skip the pretense and just do a booze cruise. “Nah,” he says.

“And then,” Jonny says, “then there’s that swimming hole the girls were talking about. Don’t know the plan, though.”

“Mm.” Patrick’s eyes are slipping shut. Veiled in the airy linens, he’s curved into Jonny’s bare skin, still warm from the sun like a stone. They bask in the quiet. 

“You asleep?” Jonny asks.

“Mm.”

“You sure?”

Patrick cracks an eye open to see Jonny’s face lit by moonlight. “You got a better idea?”

Patrick notices Jonny’s eyes glued to where Patrick’s hand rests on Jonny’s chest. He runs his fingers in little circles atop Jonny’s sternum. Jonny certainly looks like he’s got an idea, tracking the movement of Patrick’s fingers hungrily. Slowly, Patrick is getting the picture. He lets his hand drift, sleepily petting Jonny’s ribs and trailing over to his lower back. He grins soft and slow. Jonny’s ass is a gift. 

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs happily. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” Jonny double-checks sarcastically. “You’ll take one for the team here? You’ll settle?”

“Yeah,” Patrick repeats, pushing up to look Jonny in the eye with a playful grin that turns sappy. “I’m happy to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](http://cupstealer.tumblr.com)


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